in the deep dark night, when the bed is otherwise empty, thoughts like spiders crawl into mind
thoughts of how we all became, and how some of us didn't
what worked and what was lost
how some slid together and some fell apart
two lips kissing
ten fingers entwined
foreheads meeting, making secret forts from hair curtains
foundations built on solid ground or sky castles made of air:
all so precious,
all so fragile.
it's intriguing I guess, and also so mundane the way things happen.
and every day supper still needs cooked,
and every day she still has cancer,
and every day he is still living there,
and every day people die,
and every day people are born,
and every day people slide together.
and every day people fall apart.